


Choices

by silveryogis



Category: Karneval
Genre: M/M, Pre Canon, fluff and mild angst i don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveryogis/pseuds/silveryogis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yogi doesn't really think he has much choice over anything, but he has a choice about this—and maybe that's what makes Jiki so important to him, right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> just a short directionless drabble oh gosh (from tumblr)

It’s the first relationship he’s ever been in.

Yogi still feels like he hardly knows what he’s doing, and when Jiki so much as looks at him, his heart drops down into his stomach and he  _knows_ he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Most days, he just torments over whether he should hold Jiki’s hand, or not, or whether or not he texts him too much, or whether Jiki even really  _likes_ him.

It’s hard to tell with Jiki, honestly.

When they kiss, it’s easy to forget that he’s worried about it.

Neither of them started off being very good at it, at kissing, but it’s been more than a month and they’re both starting to get  _really_ good—Jiki always kisses slowly, like he’s  _tasting_ him,  _savoring_ him and the taste of his mouth, pulling his lip between his teeth and sucking softly on it, humming in the back of his throat with his fingers in Yogi’s hair.

They’ve never done more than that, just kiss, because Yogi has never felt ready for anything else—and kissing is more than enough for him, even if he always walks away from it feeling worked up and a situation in his pants that  _always_ needs  _dealing with_. Jiki just  _does_ that to him. 

It’s his first relationship, and it makes him as nervous as hell, but it’s also nice. It’s nice, having Jiki.

They’re standing together on an empty street, both draped in heavy Circus cloaks. It’s raining, it’s windy, it’s  _terrible_ outside—Yogi stares down at the varuga at his feet—it’s so small and so near death that he starts to feel sorry for it—his sword feels heavy in his hand, suddenly, and he just looks at Jiki out of the corner of his eye. Jiki looks back, and maybe he knows that Yogi hates killing varuga just because he feels too sorry for them, or maybe he just thinks he’s weak for it—either way, he tightens his grip around the handle of his whip and finishes it off for him. The thing makes a small, pitiful noise as it dies, and something in Yogi’s chest tightens.

"You’ll have to get used to it, eventually." Jiki tells him, looking back down at the ground. "That’s what working for Circus  _is_.”

"I know," Yogi says sadly. He reaches out and takes Jiki’s hand, and Jiki squeezes it. Maybe he does understand. Maybe he understands that Yogi doesn’t remember joining Circus in the first place, that he’s just always  _been with them_ , as far as he can recollect. He doesn’t remember anything else, but he’s pretty sure that he didn’t  _choose_ this. Maybe Jiki knows that.

It certainly feels like that when he turns to him and gives him a kiss to the corner of his mouth, fingertips touching lightly to the other side of his face.

"You’ll get there," Jiki tells him, just barely whispering against his mouth. It’s  _so rare_ that Jiki gives him such honest, tender words, that something in Yogi just  _breaks_ and he pushes forward to kiss him full on the mouth, fisting his hands in the front of his shirt. Jiki slants his mouth against his and tugs him just a little closer, wrapping his arms loosely around his neck. Their heavy Circus cloaks batter in the wind, and Yogi can feel the rain, biting into his face while Jiki just kisses him softly, almost like he’s just trying to reassure him. Tears of frustration start to roll down Yogi’s cheeks, and he kisses Jiki like Jiki is the only thing he  _has,_ because—well, because he is. He’s the one thing that Yogi has  _because he chose it._

"Hey, hey," Jiki murmurs, putting his hands on either side of his face. "You okay?"

Yogi nods, and kisses him harder. “I’m fine, Jiki-kun,” he says, breathing out hard through his nose. Maybe he even means it, too—with Jiki’s hands on his face and with his lips pressed to his, how could he be anything else? “I am. I’m fine.” 


End file.
